


Unstealing

by earlgreytea68



Category: Shenanigans (Original Universe)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: Nicholas said, “We could even do something radically unexpected and see each other outside of the confines of this coffee shop.”“Oh,” said Elliot, oddly breathless. “That works, too.”





	Unstealing

**Author's Note:**

> It's an art thief AU.

The mark was a doctor.

They weren’t calling him a pediatrician, because that sounded really bad, but, even though he _was_ a pediatrician, he was an egotistical, arrogant, rude, and selfish jerk who had once refused to give assistance during a natural disaster crisis because he’d been driving up to the mountains to check on his “cabin” (ten-thousand-square-foot, high-tech retreat).

So Jane said anyway.

At any rate, the doctor was a collector who had several pieces of art they had clients who would pay prettily for, as well as a lovely little canvas by an artist that Elliot adored, not that they made business decisions based on Elliot’s art collecting, but it never hurt, Jonah had noticed. Elliot also disliked the doctor’s overall aesthetic, he thought he was “showy” and “garish” and “had no taste,” and Elliot always felt compelled to liberate good art from people Elliot thought didn’t appreciate it and thought of it as just an investment.

The mark was the doctor, and the current quandary was a way into his house, not for the thefts themselves but for scoping out the security system, and Jane’s solution to this was a party, and a young pediatrician named Nicholas.

“Nicholas works in the same practice,” Jane said, projecting Nicholas’s photograph onto their smartboard. “And he’s invited to the party. And he’s single. So we’re going to convince him that he needs a date.”

Nicholas was unmistakably attractive but his most striking feature was his eyes, and those were partly obscured by his glasses. Jonah thought this was interesting. It was possible Nicholas just didn’t like contacts, but it was also possible that he went with glasses to downplay his eyes, and that said a lot about Nicholas.

“Which one of us?” Caroline said.

Jane said, “Either. He goes both ways. We can put you both in the field and see which he goes for.”

Caroline and Elliot both nodded solemnly. This was their job, and they did it well. In the beginning, Jonah knew, there had just been Elliot and Jane. Jane had been the mastermind, and Elliot was--as he called it--the _executor_. Elliot was the one who put the plans into motion. Elliot, beguilingly good-looking, with a smile that drew people in, a wordless, intensely useful charisma. Elliot was charming but not smarmy, he was intelligent but not overbearing, he was sympathetic and never suspicious. Elliot was good at being the bait.

So was Caroline, who at one point before Jonah had gotten involved with the whole situation had apparently also been vaguely involved with Elliot. Jonah didn’t really get how that had worked--these days, neither of them seemed overly interested in the other, there was no past pulse of sexual pull between them--but at any rate it had ended with Caroline being drawn into the little group, and whoever Elliot couldn’t pull, Caroline could.

Jonah had stumbled upon them, through a friend of a friend of a friend, really, and Jonah liked to think his job was Emotional Intelligence. Because as smart as they all were, Jonah thought they were all fucking idiots when it came to understanding human feelings and motivations. Absolutely clueless.

***

It was Jonah who picked Nicholas’s pocket on the day designated as contact day. Elliot fell into place behind Nicholas in line at Nicholas’s usual coffee shop, eminently professional, and when Nicholas reached for a wallet that was no longer in his pocket, and expressed dismay and concern, Elliot leaned over smoothly and smiled and said, “Allow me,” and waved his bank card at the barista. “Just add mine onto his.”

Nicholas was flustered, still patting himself down like his wallet might suddenly reappear. His hair had a little cowlick to it that Elliot found unaccountably charming.

He said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know--I could have sworn that I--do you think someone stole my wallet?” He sounded astonished to think that such a thing was possible.

Elliot said easily, “You probably just left it at home. Thinking of other things on your way out the door. You know how it goes.” He gave Nicholas a reassuring smile, designed to distract Nicholas from freaking out about his wallet.

It worked. Nicholas said vaguely, “Yes. I guess so. I’ll have to go back and check. Thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

Elliot waved him off. “It’s the least I could do. Good karma in the world. I’m Elliot.” Elliot held out his hand.

“Nicholas,” Nicholas said, and shook the hand.

_Not Nick_ , thought Elliot, and somehow...liked him more? Even though that was ridiculous and a shortened name made all the sense in the world and Elliot would never have supported the aesthetic of introducing himself as Elliothew. But somehow “Nicholas” worked for Nicholas.

Elliot said, “This is my first time in this coffee shop. I’m debating adding a pastry to my order. Thoughts?”

“Oh,” said Nicholas. “You should. They’re great. I especially love their scones.”

“Scones,” said Elliot, making a show of examining the pastries on display, because the worst thing would be to come on too strong. “Got it.”

Nicholas was handed his coffee, and said to Elliot, “Well. Thanks again.”

Elliot gave him a small, distracted smile, and added to it, “No problem. See you around,” because if he’d done this right, Nicholas would think a lot about that _see you around_.

Elliot got back in line to get himself a scone, just as Caroline came in with Nicholas’s wallet, right on schedule, and Elliot knew Caroline did her best flirtatious act as she handed it over, but Elliot could also feel Nicholas’s gaze on Elliot, barely paying attention to the wallet.

_Bingo_ , thought Elliot.

***

With Elliot the obvious focus of the operation now, their timing had to be extremely delicate with the next bit. The text from Jonah came: _Get in line now_. And Elliot stood up, got in line, and felt Nicholas fall into place behind him. Elliot would have to tell Jonah his timing had been impeccable.

Elliot ordered his coffee and reached for his wallet to pay for it and Nicholas, right on cue, as expected, leaned forward and said, “Allow me,” and waved his bank card around.

Elliot looked at him, feigning surprise, and then allowed a smile of recognition to cross his face. “Well. Hello. Fancy meeting you here again.”

“The scones were good enough for a return visit?” said Nicholas.

“The scones,” said Elliot. “Other things. It was just an all-around pleasant coffee shop encounter.” Elliot let the implications hang in the air.

“Was it?” said Nicholas, kind of staring at Elliot a bit.

The barista said impatiently, “Are you going to order any coffee, sir?”

Nicholas said, “Oh, yeah, sorry,” and shook himself, turned to the barista to order, and Elliot smiled as he moved down to the end of the counter to wait for his drink.

Nicholas, joining him after putting his order in, said, “So are you new here?”

Which was an excellent sign. Nicholas was already initiating conversation. “Kind of,” Elliot said. He knew some people thought details helped with lies, but Elliot was a big fan of being vague. People were vague. It was a good aesthetic to rock.

Nicholas, however, didn’t seem to like the vagueness. He said, “Now that sounds like a story, hmm?” and smiled, looking interested and open in a way that Elliot wasn’t really very used to. Most people, even people he’d charmed immediately, didn’t...look at him quite like _that_. Elliot didn’t really know where to place it in the spectrum of reactions he garnered.

He said, “Not really. I’m a business analyst. It means I can work pretty much anywhere. So I try to try out new coffee shops every so often.” “Business analyst” was a good fake career. It sounded good, and respectable, but almost nobody understood what it was. It was Elliot’s go-to.

Nicholas said, “And this coffee shop gets your stamp of approval?”

“So far it’s looking up,” Elliot replied, smiling widely. “The scones were really good.”

***

Elliot, moving things right along, ensconced himself at a table for the next encounter, laptop open in front of him, waiting for Nicholas to come along.

_On his way_ , Jonah texted. _Look as alluring as possible_.

Elliot tapped aimlessly on his laptop and tried to look like a very busy and important business analyst. When he pretended to spot Nicholas coming in, he gave him his best wide-open smile.

Nicholas smiled back. Good sign.

Nicholas got his coffee and then...left the coffee shop, with, yes, a little wave in Elliot’s direction, but still. That wasn’t what Elliot had been expecting.

Elliot frowned.

***

But the same thing happened the next day, and the day after that.

“Elliot’s striking out,” Caroline remarked, as she painted her fingernails an elaborate coat of French blue dotted over with daisies. “Maybe I should give it another try.”

“No, there was something there,” Elliot said, sounding frustrated. “I felt it. I had him hooked and then he backed off.”

“Do you think we’ve been made?” Jane asked.

“How?” said Elliot, with an exaggerated pout. “Jesus Christ, I bought him some coffee, and then he reciprocated. What is there to even ‘make’ about us at this point?”

“Jonah did steal his wallet that time,” Jane pointed out.

Elliot waved his hand dismissively. “He never even thought twice about that. He’s forgotten all about that.”

Which could have been a compliment to Jonah’s pickpocketing skills but Jonah knew better than to expect any compliments from Elliot.

Jonah said, “I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

“For what purpose?” Elliot asked. “To micromanage me?”

“You are the only art thief I know of,” Jonah remarked, “who manages to act like you’re some cubicle-worker constantly being subjected to corporate-speak abuse.”

Elliot pouted because that was basically what Elliot was best at, aside from being alluring eye candy, of course. And, really, the pouting went hand-in-hand with that; in Jonah’s experience eye candy excelled at a good pout.

Jonah said, “I’ll just stand in the corner and watch your interactions and see if I can discern anything.”

Jane said, “It’s as good a next move as any. End of discussion, let’s do some karaoke.”

***

The next day, Elliot tried not to fidget with his laptop. He didn’t like being _observed_ while he worked, and Jonah was the worst kind of observer, cool and unimpressed by fucking everything. Jane thought Jonah added something valuable to the team, but Elliot had no idea what it could possibly be.

Nicholas came in and they exchanged their usual smiles and then Nicholas got his coffee and then...Nicholas actually paused by Elliot’s table. Which was amazing, more than Elliot had gotten in days.

“Hi,” Elliot said, caught off-guard and a little tongue-tied as a result.

“Hi,” said Nicholas. “Is the coffee shop working out?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Elliot couldn’t think of a single thing to say about the coffee shop. “Yeah.”

Nicholas smiled again, and said, “Have a good weekend,” and then left.

Elliot stared after him, feeling stupid, and then felt even stupider when he caught Jonah’s narrow-eyed gaze.

***

“Okay,” Jonah said, in that annoying way he had, like he was lecturing all of them. Elliot always wanted to just throw pencils at Jonah’s head when he did these things. “It isn’t that Nicholas is onto you.”

“I could have told you that,” said Elliot sulkily.

“It’s that Nicholas doesn’t know what to make of you, and he’s naturally passive, he’s not going to make a move, so it’s up to you to do it.”

“I have practically been falling in his lap,” said Elliot.

“Elliot, you smile at him. And it’s not a come-hither smile, either. Honestly, I don’t know if you would even _know_ how to seduce someone properly if I commanded you to.”

Elliot drew himself up, indignant. “All I _do_ is seduce people.”

“All you do is smile unthreateningly and look good enough to flatter people that you’re paying attention. Nicholas is a good-looking pediatrician who gets enough smiles from people. He’s not sure if you’re wanting more or if you’re just being friendly. Really, the two of you would be a disaster.”

“If this were a real relationship,” Jane interjected. “Which it’s not. So, Jonah, just tell Elliot what to do.”

“Ask him out,” Jonah said bluntly. “The next time you see him, ask him out. If you wait for him to ask you, it’s never going to happen. He’s too polite. He has an unnecessary surplus of manners.”

Elliot said, “Fine. I’ll ask him out.”

Jane said to Jonah, “He’ll say yes?” like Jonah was the expert.

Jonah snorted. “He’ll say yes. He looks at Elliot like he could eat him up with a spoon. It’s ridiculous.” Jonah gave Elliot a close look that Elliot couldn’t read. Apparently, the look was trying to figure out if Elliot was an idiot, because the next thing Jonah said was, “Do you know how to ask someone out, or do you need me to tell you how to do that?”

***

Elliot, worried that Nicholas might try to leave the coffee shop without speaking, stood up from his table hastily, and jostled it enough that his coffee fell directly onto his laptop.

_Fuck_ , he thought. Jane was going to fucking kill him.

Nicholas’s voice said, “Uh-oh. That doesn’t look good.”

“It’s fine,” Elliot said quickly, because he didn’t want to derail this conversation from its asking-out objective.

He turned to Nicholas, who looked faintly amused in an unexpectedly kind way and handed across a chocolate croissant.

“You looked like you might need some chocolate,” Nicholas explained.

“You’re a nice person,” Elliot said, which hadn’t been in his painstakingly smooth asking-out script.

Nicholas said solemnly, “Thanks. I try,” and then winked.

The wink was _devastating_. _What the fuck_ , Elliot thought wildly, feeling off-balance, and blurted out, “I thought you might like to go out sometime.”

Nicholas’s beautiful eyes blinked behind his glasses. “Oh.”

“I mean,” said Elliot, “only if you want to.” Which was not at all what he meant, he wanted Nicholas to absolutely go out with him, he _needed_ Nicholas to absolutely go out with him. He continued desperately, “We could get, like, coffee or something.”

Nicholas was smiling now. A nice smile. One of his open, genuine smiles that made Elliot feel a curious ache in the region of his chest. Nicholas said, “We could even do something radically unexpected and see each other outside of the confines of this coffee shop.”

“Oh,” said Elliot, oddly breathless. “That works, too.”

***

Elliot needed to just plan a date. It was something he’d done dozens of times before. He had the mark hooked, so he just needed to plan a date. It usually went like this: flowers, and dinner, a bottle of wine, a place with low lighting and some sort of crooning music, candlelight, moon and stars, etc. Elliot could do this in his sleep. Elliot felt like he had done it while barely paying attention, while being unable to say the next day what had happened on the date, other than it reeled the mark in more firmly. Elliot knew how to plan a date that snagged someone.

So it made no sense that Elliot flailed a little bit, staring at Nicholas’s number newly installed in his cell phone, trying to figure out what he should do.

“You know how to do this,” Jonah told him, eyes shrewd on him, which wasn’t helpful.

“I know,” Elliot said. “Do you...think the set piece is getting old?” He didn’t know why it was so important that Nicholas be...extra-snagged by him? Extra-enchanted? Extra-charmed?

Caroline said, from where she and Jane were working out choreography to “Very Very Very,” because until Elliot got the information about the main mark’s security set-up, there was little else they could do and she and Jane liked to imagine that they could have been K-pop stars in another life, “Elliot. You know you don’t have to try very hard when you look like us.”

“Indeed,” agreed Jonah drily. “The way you look will do ninety percent of the work for you. The other ten percent just has to be you being adorably clueless about the force of your own appeal. Which, for you, adorably clueless is usually no work at all.”

Elliot frowned at Jonah.

Jonah leaned back in his chair and said lazily, “The you that you have so carefully constructed and cultivated is ordinarily comfort enough for you. Why isn’t it now?”

Elliot’s frown deepened into a scowl.

“Very Very Very” started up again in the background, and Elliot’s phone vibrated in his hand. He looked down in surprise at the text. From Nicholas.

_Do you know the Lobster Stop?_ A link followed. Elliot clicked on it cautiously and stared in horror at the resulting website.

“Uh-oh,” said Jonah. “What did he say? Has he changed his mind about your magnetic aura?”

“No, no,” Elliot said, trying to cover and pretend this was fine. “He’s just...planning the date.”

“He’s doing it _for_ you?” said Jonah.

“Aww, Elliot, you’ve found a true gentleman,” said Caroline, only a little out of breath from her excursions.

“Where does he want to take you?” Jane asked.

“For lobster,” said Elliot, because that sounded classier than _a clam shack in some sketchy plaza in fucking Quincy that has a .net website domain_.

Although Jonah looked like he knew the truth anyway.

Fuck him, thought Elliot, and went to his room and scrolled through the Lobster Stop’s website again and again, and maybe it was weirdly charming that a hot pediatrician would think this was the perfect place to bring someone on a first date.

Elliot texted back, _Looks great! Can’t wait!_

And realized that he actually meant it.

He just managed to restrain himself from adding a grinning emoji. Good Lord, what was happening to him?

***

Elliot was dressed in jeans and one of his numerous shirts from Blank Label, untucked and open at the collar, and a scuffed old pair of John Varvatos chukka boots that he’d stopped wearing precisely because they were so old and scuffed, so that Jonah hadn’t seen them in a while. And sunglasses that he currently had perched up on the top of his head, settled in his artfully mussed hair.

Jonah lifted his eyebrows at him and said, “What is this outfit? This is not a lobster outfit, unless you are actually going onto the sea and catching the lobsters yourself.”

“Actual lobster fishermen don’t dress like that, Jonah,” Caroline informed him haughtily, because she’d grown up in a fishing village along the coast and considered herself an authority.

“I think it’s a smart move,” Jane said, barely looking up from where she was lost in her computer. “Appeal more specifically to Nicholas. He seems like a casual, dress-down sort of guy.”

“Who’s taking you for lobster, is he?” said Jonah, watching Elliot carefully, because now Elliot was looking down at his outfit, and Jonah could see the gears clicking in Elliot’s head. Elliot hadn’t chosen this outfit to appeal specifically to Nicholas. Elliot was terrible at being _specific_ when it came to seduction. Elliot had chosen this outfit for other reasons entirely. Elliot-related reasons. “What a very _casual_ choice for a first date,” continued Jonah.

Elliot fiddled a little with his rolled-up sleeves, even though the cuffs were perfectly even, perfectly positioned, and looked oddly lost in a way that Elliot never looked, in a way that had Jonah torn between being irritated about the state of their current criminal enterprise and pitying of Elliot’s evident state of befuddlement.

Jane said, again without looking up from her computer, “Knock him dead with your charm, Elliothew.”

Elliot said hollowly, “Yeah,” and left.

Jonah looked at Jane and Caroline and said, “Am I the only one who’s a little concerned about the fissures showing up in Elliot’s cleanly lacquered surface?”

Jane did look up from her computer finally. Caroline looked up from her phone. They both looked at Jonah.

Jane said, “Aesthetic is Elliot’s thing. I trust him to know if he needs to bring a rougher one to this particular project.”

Jonah lifted his eyebrows. “If you think Elliot is thinking about this as a ‘project’ still, then you’re even farther behind than I thought.”

Jane frowned. “Elliot’s not like that, and you know it. Elliot’s not going to jeopardize us, and our mission, over some doctor he’s exchanged three sentences with. I know you have trouble trusting Elliot, but I don’t.”

“I don’t have trouble trusting Elliot,” Jonah said patiently. “I do trust Elliot. I just think that you think he’s some cool, steady presence, but in reality I think he’s a roiling, emotional bog of quicksand.”

Jane rolled her eyes and went back to her computer.

Caroline, already back to her phone, said absently, “I don’t know. I think I like this new Elliot. The more casual thing really worked for him.”

***

Elliot had never been nervous. Elliot usually excelled at this portion of the game. Elliot loved being told to dress up, and play a part, and be his most aesthetically appealing self. This was Elliot’s _life_.

Elliot stepped out of his Uber in the middle of an unremarkable, actually fairly dingy strip mall type of place--Elliot fucking _hated_ Quincy--and felt so incredibly nervous.

And then Nicholas walked up to him, dressed in jeans and a “There Is No Democracy Without Socialism” t-shirt and an actual honest-to-God trilby.

Elliot blurted out, “Are you serious with that hat?”

Nicholas grinned at him and said, “I consider it a victory you commented on the hat and not the t-shirt. That was a little test.”

“Oh,” said Elliot uncertainly. “Did I pass?”

“It wasn’t actually a test,” Nicholas said warmly. “But yes, you did. Have you ever been here before?” He nodded toward the Lobster Stop.

Elliot wanted to say, _Look at me. Does it look like I’ve ever been here before?_ But he didn’t. Because Nicholas looked...happy to see him. And pleased to be sharing this with him. And Elliot had been the honey trap for lots of people but he’d somehow never felt like _they_ had been happy to see him. They had always been playing a part--the part of a person who deserved someone like Elliot--and Elliot liked acting out that little drama, it worked, he was good at it. Nicholas didn’t feel like he was playing a part. Nicholas, in his outspoken t-shirt and silly (attractive) hat, in this unremarkable little clam shack parking lot surrounded by construction and working docks, seemed...like a _real person_. And Elliot was abruptly unsure if he’d ever met one of those before, and how he was supposed to act without a script.

Elliot decided on, “No, I haven’t.”

Nicholas smiled at him. He had a really amazing smile. Elliot didn’t even know how to describe it other than “really amazing.” Elliot supposed it was best described as a fuzzy blanket sort of smile, the unaesthetic kind that Elliot would never be caught dead with these days but that had lived at the foot of his bed when he was growing up. Nicholas said, “You’re in for a treat. Do you like seafood?”

Elliot nodded, and followed Nicholas in.

He also followed Nicholas’s recommendation that they get some stuff to share, and they emerged with fried clams and lobster rolls, back out into the parking lot, where Nicholas said, “This way,” and led Elliot over to his car.

Which was a rundown dull red Toyota Prius. Elliot thought it might have been the first Toyota Prius ever produced.

He said, “Are we eating in your car?” unclear what was happening.

Nicholas grinned at him over the roof and said, “Elliot. Did you think for a first date I was just going to stick you in a somewhat grimy diner? Or in my _car_? Have a little faith in me.” Nicholas winked at him and slid into the driver’s seat.

Elliot stood stupidly outside the car and went over how to breathe, since it seemed complicated at the moment. Then he slid into the passenger seat.

“Okay,” he said, as Nicholas arranged all of their food on Elliot’s lap.

Nicholas laughed at him, and normally Elliot hated being laughed at, felt tense in the face of mockery, did everything possible to avoid it, but Nicholas’s laugh was another fuzzy-blanket sort of thing, and Elliot liked it. Elliot liked that laugh. He wanted to provoke more of that laugh.

Nicholas said, “We’re just going down the street.”

He did indeed drive them just down the street, where there was a little park overlooking the water, and Elliot stood and watched Nicholas spread out a blanket for a picnic, as close as they could get to the water while still being on grass. The breeze off the water was strong and salty, and Elliot sat on the blanket and ate and thought how there was something about this, fried seafood on a humid summer night in Boston, the sharp salt scent, the seagulls wheeling overhead, the sun setting off behind them, taking the bite out of the day’s heat as it went.

Elliot had never done this before in his life and he couldn’t imagine why. “This is nice,” he said.

Nicholas gave him an arch look, dunking a french fry into tartar sauce. “You sound amazed.”

“I...I mean, isn’t amazement a good thing to provoke on a first date?” Elliot said, because he was generally the one trying to provoke it in others.

“Yes,” said Nicholas, smiling, and bit into his french fry. “It is. I worried you’d be difficult to amaze.”

Elliot thought he should have been. He said honestly, “I usually am,” and then wondered why he kept _saying things_ like that. Things he _meant_.

Nicholas’s smile widened. “Should I read into that?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” said Elliot, and there, he did it _again_.

Nicholas laughed that lovely laugh again and said, “Okay. I’ll check back in at the end of the evening. So where are you from?”

“Here,” Elliot said, which was the truth, and he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore, he felt dizzy, like he was watching someone else on this picnic blanket. “I mean, not here, but the Boston area. A suburb. A...Newton.”

“Nice,” said Nicholas. “Newton’s nice.”

“Where are you from?” asked Elliot, because he thought that was a much safer topic of conversation.

Nicholas said, “Washington. Washington _state_ , which is a clarification I have learned you have to make on this coast.”

“Seattle?” Elliot asked.

“No. The parts of Washington _state_ that are not Seattle.” Nicholas smiled as he said it.

“You must get sick of people having no idea about anyplace in Washington,” Elliot said.

Nicholas shrugged. “Hey, before I got here, I didn’t know where Newton was.”

“Why’d you move out here?”

“Med school,” Nicholas said. “I went to BU.”

“And you stayed?” Elliot was curious. They moved a lot but they kept coming back to Boston, too, and Elliot could never decide if it was because he and Jane both had roots in the area, much as they tried to deny it, or if there was just something about Boston that pulled people in.

“I like it here,” Nicholas said with a little shrug. “This place was a...clean start for me.”

“A clean start,” Elliot echoed. He liked the otherworldy idealistic sound of that. “Are there such things?”

“Well. Kind of. If you move across the country and try your best to be completely unbothered by all of the events that led up to you moving across the country. So...maybe not, in fact.”

Elliot didn’t know if he should ask. Elliot couldn’t help asking. Elliot wanted to watch emotions play so transparently over Nicholas’s face, as the sunset cast its features golden-red. He’d given up on the trilby, and Elliot was glad, as it made the features of his face completely unobscured. He said, “What made you move across the country?”

Nicholas said, “The short answer is...politics. As in political disagreements. With my family. But the long answer is longer than that, because things are seldom so straightforward, and family is never anything but complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” Elliot agreed, because he found all family complicated: the biological version he had basically disavowed when he’d decided on a life of crime, the found version he lived with now and who he still found confusing and unsettling sometimes.

Nicholas said, “Is that an interesting story?” and popped a fried clam into his mouth.

“Not really,” Elliot hedged. “Kind of the same as you. Differences of opinion. So do you like this coast then?” He thought getting the focus back on Nicholas seemed like a good idea.

Nicholas said, “Yes, I like many things about it. I miss the mountains.”

“There’s New Hampshire,” Elliot offered.

Nicholas gave him a look and said, “I reiterate: I miss the mountains.”

Elliot laughed, and was so surprised to hear a genuine laugh from himself that he laughed again. Then he said, “Okay, fair point.”

“I like the lobster, though,” said Nicholas. “This is good lobster. And the clams.”

“Once, when I was a kid,” Elliot heard himself say, “I went quahogging with my father. You know what that is? Quahogging?” Elliot made a claw out of his hand and said, “You basically wade through shallow mud with your toes all scrunched up, seeing if you walk into any quahogs. It’s weird, and I was little, and I don’t know, somehow it made an impact on me that these weird shells were alive and my father planned to kill them and eat them, so I tried to save their lives by dumping them in the toilet.”

Nicholas was watching him with a faint little smile on his face, looking interested and maybe...charmed? Elliot had read the expression _charmed_ on a million faces, but it seemed _different_ on Nicholas’s. “What happened?” he asked.

“My mother laughed until she cried,” Elliot said. “My father was less amused. He refused to make any of the quahogs because he’d said I’d contaminated them with the toilet water. My mother really just kept laughing and laughing. She couldn’t even punish me. She said it was a ‘good impulse.’”

“It was a good impulse,” Nicholas said, smiling still, and reached for another french fry. “You sound like a sweet kid.”

“I told you the one sweet story from my childhood,” Elliot said.

“You’re blushing,” Nicholas told him.

Elliot knew he was. Having it pointed out made the situation worse. “Stop,” he protested. “Now you have to tell me an embarrassing story from your childhood so you can blush.”

“That wasn’t embarrassing,” Nicholas said, but he leaned back on his hands, his legs crossed in front of him, and looked out at the water, clearly considering, saying, “Hmm.”

“Look at you,” said Elliot. “Making a big show of coming up with an embarrassing story from your childhood.”

Nicholas laughed and looked back at Elliot and said, “When I was little, I used to think starfish were actual stars. I was very worried about how to get them back up into the sky.”

Elliot could see it, a little-boy version of Nicholas, serious and determined about the fallen stars in the tidal pools. He wanted...irrational things about stars. He said, “Nothing about that story was embarrassing.”

Nicholas tipped one end of his mouth up in a cozy-blanket smile of his. Elliot wanted to dive straight into that smile and never come up for air. He said, “Neither was yours.”

***

Nicholas offered to drive Elliot home, and Elliot balked, not because he didn’t want Nicholas to drive him home but because he didn’t want Jonah or Jane or Caroline to watch Nicholas drop him off. Elliot felt a little raw and unsteady, a little flattened; he felt like maybe he needed the Uber ride to pull his scattered pieces back together into the usual package of Elliot.

“And what should I read into that?” Nicholas asked, smiling, as they stood by his car.

“That starfish story,” Elliot said, instead of anything that made any sense.

Nicholas just said, “Yes?” as if Elliot was behaving like an ordinary human being.

“I feel like you’re this completely different substance. And I don’t think I want you to go back to where you came from.” Elliot wished he could stop talking in front of Nicholas. He felt like an idiot.

But Nicholas said, “Maybe you’re the substance out of the proper milieu. I don’t want you to go back, either.”

Elliot stared at Nicholas, feeling disoriented and flooded. He _did_ feel out of his proper milieu. He was going to call for an Uber and go back to where he belonged and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. It was dark all around them, and the water hushed against the shore behind them, and Elliot didn’t know anymore what he wanted. He thought maybe he wanted more. He thought maybe he wanted Nicholas to pluck him up like a starfish, tuck him into a pocket, take him into a completely different reality. “Fuck,” Elliot said thickly, because this was the very definition of fuckery.

Nicholas smiled slightly. “And what should I read into _that_?” He leaned closer, inching himself forward, definitely into Elliot’s space, and sometimes Elliot had to remind himself of his part in the script, had to consciously hold still and stay put.

Elliot didn’t hold still and stay put; Elliot swayed forward.

Nicholas murmured, “Is that, like, a yes-to-a-second-date sort of fuck?”

Elliot nodded breathlessly.

“Can I kiss you now?” asked Nicholas.

“Uh-huh,” said Elliot, already leaning into it.

Nicholas’s kiss was brief, and sweet, and soft, and made Elliot’s breath stop, caught in his lungs, unable to move. Elliot never wanted to move again. He lifted his hands into Nicholas’s t-shirt and rocked him back forward, into another kiss, and another, sighing little sips of kisses that made Elliot’s breaths stumble over each other, made Elliot keep ducking in for more, made Elliot feel like he’d never actually been kissed before, which was ridiculous, he’d been kissed so many times, _so_ many times, but he just wanted to keep getting kissed by Nicholas, he wanted to keep kissing back, just like this, in godforsaken fucking _Quincy_ , of all places.

***

Elliot spent his Uber ride home with his fingers pressed hard against his lips, wondering how well-kissed he looked, and if it looked different from other times he’d come home well-kissed, and if it would be obvious that he’d been turned upside-down and shaken entirely out and he wasn’t sure he’d managed to get everything back together.

Jonah, because he was Jonah, took one look at him and said drily, “And how was your date?”

Jane, who was busy on her computer, said, “Hook, line, and sinker?”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, and then went to hide in his room. He didn’t care that Jonah would call him on this the next day, would ask all sorts of biting questions, would frown in that narrow-eyed way he had and make judgments and tell Elliot what he was doing wrong. Elliot curled up in his bed and took out his cell phone and looked at Nicholas’s last text message setting up the date. Then he texted in reply, _I’ll plan the next one_.

Nicholas’s reply was immediate. _Looking forward to it. Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time_.

Elliot stared at that text for so long that he had to turn his face into his pillow, unreasonably embarrassed by the size and irresistibility of his own grin. Eventually he tried to get his act together enough to reply. He thought of appropriate flirtatious quotes he could use, maybe in French, the language of love. Usually people loved when he broke out the French.

What he ended up texting was, _Me, too_.

***

“So what fabulous restaurant have you decided to dazzle your doctor with?” Jane asked, and that was a fair question, because usually Elliot spent a lot of time and effort in choosing the perfect restaurant with the right aesthetic for the person he was trying to snag, and also the right aesthetic for Elliot, meaning that he’d been wanting to try the place or it was a particular favorite of his, because Elliot ought to enjoy the dates, too.

But Elliot had not thought at all about which restaurant to take Nicholas to. A restaurant date seemed not at all right, when Nicholas had given him a picnic by the water. If Elliot tried to take Nicholas to one of his usual places, Elliot felt like Nicholas would laugh at him. That fond, lovely, wonderful laugh Elliot was addicted to, but he would laugh and say, _Let’s go somewhere else_ , and Elliot would happily follow him but then Nicholas would end up planning another date and that wasn’t fair. Elliot wanted to plan a good date, too. Elliot...wanted Nicholas to _like_ him.

And it was true that the objective was usually to get the mark to like Elliot but this was different and Elliot knew it, even if he was admitting it only to himself. Elliot didn’t just want to be liked in that shallow, superficial way he was usually liked, that possessive, pawing way that made Elliot want to detach his own skin. Being liked like that was all well and good if you only cared about the payday at the end of that, but Elliot wanted to be liked in _more_ than that way. Elliot wanted to be liked _deeply_ , _profoundly_ , on some level he barely knew how to reach, but he thought he could get there with a bit of work, if he held his breath just long enough. Somewhere down there, whoever he was, _that’s_ how he wanted to be liked, on some level where he barely knew himself but he wanted Nicholas to know, and smile, and kiss.

Elliot said vaguely, feeling Jonah’s eyes on him, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. He’s...tricky.”

“Tricky,” echoed Jonah in that flat, unimpressed way he had.

Elliot kind of wanted to stick his tongue out at him.

“Well, you’re the expert,” Jane said. “You’ll crack him.”

“Indeed,” said Jonah. “It’s like a thrilling game of chicken that we’re watching here. Who will crack first?”

Elliot ignored him and went in search of a well-needed drink.

***

Elliot took Nicholas to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. He did it because it was unabashedly his favorite place in Boston, and he wanted Nicholas to see him in his favorite place. He thought that maybe Nicholas would look at him in the middle of his favorite place and say, _Ah, there’s the key to you_ , and then maybe Elliot could say, _What? What is it?_ And Nicholas would know and everything would be clear and less confusing.

“I’ve never been here before,” Nicholas said as they emerged from the glass hallway into the palazzo, its courtyard bursting upon them. “It’s beautiful.”

Elliot stopped walking to turn around and gape at him. Nicholas was slightly more dressed-up this Saturday afternoon for their date, in red corduroys and some abysmal plaid shirt. Elliot was beginning to understand that Nicholas’s fashion sense was most accurately described as “tragic.” Elliot had chosen very carefully, a pair of soft gray pants that he’d loved forever and had never worn on a date before because they had never seemed _right_ , and an equally soft, worn pale pink polo shirt, because he also loved it and he loved wearing pale pink and fuck it, these felt like the kind of clothes Elliot _wanted_ to wear and so should just...wear.

Elliot said, “You’ve never been here before?”

“When would I have been here?” asked Nicholas, as if Elliot’s shock was perplexing.

“What do you mean?” Elliot said. “It’s only one of the best art museums _in the entire world_.”

“Not that you’re biased or anything,” said Nicholas, hands in his pockets, with one of his faint, lovely smiles.

“It’s _true_. This art museum is actually an enormous piece of _installation art_. How many other cart museums can say that? Like, none. Also, it is the scene of the biggest unsolved art theft _of all time_. Did you know that? _Five hundred million dollars’_ worth of art, and no one’s ever found it. Works by _Vermeer_ , and _Rembrandt_ , and _Manet_ , and _Degas_. Seriously, how the fuck have you never been here?”

“I should have come to this museum to see artwork that’s no longer here?” asked Nicholas, raising his eyebrows.

“They can’t move anything,” Elliot said. “Because of her will. So, like, the _empty frames_ are still here.”

Nicholas said, “I would like to really appreciate this museum visit with you, so can I kiss you now and get it out of the way so I’m not thinking about it the whole time?”

“Oh,” Elliot said, taken aback and unsure how to respond. Other than: “ _Yes_.”

Nicholas, smiling, moved in for a kiss, and Elliot sighed into it, and smiled into it, and when Nicholas drew back Elliot said stupidly, “Thank you,” but also kind of meant it because he felt...effervescent now. Weightless. Floating.

Nicholas, looking amused, said, “Thank _you_.”

Elliot said, to try to make a little more sense, “It’s just...being kissed in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is pretty much the best thing I can imagine. There is no better place in the universe to be kissed.”

Nicholas smiled his soft fuzzy-blanket of a smile and kissed him again.

Elliot, embarrassed at how much he was letting slip and how everyone was going to _kill_ him, said, “Close your eyes.”

“Okay,” Nicholas said, obeying instantly.

Elliot marveled at him. “You don’t even want to know _why_?”

“I assume you have your reasons,” Nicholas responded simply, eyes still closed.  

Elliot tried to smile at the other museum visitors passing them on the cloister as if he didn’t really want to just flop around on the floor like a happy puppy. Then he took Nicholas’s hand and led him carefully. “Steps,” he said, guiding Nicholas down the few steps into the Spanish Cloister, and Nicholas didn’t even protest, just followed his lead. Elliot prodded Nicholas into position and took a moment to admire the view of the painting in its alcove in front of them. Then he said softly, so as not to break the painting’s spell, “Okay, open.”

Nicholas opened his eyes, and was appropriately silent as he studied the painting.

“It’s _El Jaleo_ ,” Elliot said reverently. “John Singer Sargent. And isn’t it _magnificent_?”

It was an objectively magnificent painting. If Nicholas didn’t agree it was magnificent, Elliot wasn’t sure they could even continue the rest of the date.

Nicholas said, “It’s stunning.” And then Nicholas said, “Why do you love it so much?”

“What do you mean?” Elliot asked, confused. How could you explain why you loved _El Jaleo_? You just did, because it was fucking _El Jaleo_ , and you never forgot the first time you stood in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and saw _El Jaleo_.

“I mean, it’s gorgeous,” Nicholas said. “But you wanted me to close my eyes just so I could have the proper experience of it. And you look at it like you wish you could step inside of it. This museum is surely full of beautiful pieces of art. You said yourself it’s one of the best museums in the world. So tell me why this painting is the one we’ve come to and stopped and just breathed in?”

Elliot looked at the painting. He could tell Nicholas so many things about _El Jaleo_. He could talk about its horizontal composition, the off-center focus, Sargent’s usual expert working of the folds of the fabric of her dress, the lithe sinuous lines of her in comparison to the society girls Sargent used to formally pose. He could talk about how Isabella had positioned the painting in its Spanish alcove, at eye level, dark and moody and atmospheric, drawing you in to the scene. He could talk about all of that, because he knew all of it. But Elliot said, “Look at them, all of them, just...dancing, and...having fun, and not worrying. They’re just who they are, these people, dancing, or making music, or just... _living_. It’s part of the skill of this painting, that everyone in it is so gloriously alive. You look at it and you wonder...could Sargent paint like that because he knew what it was like to live like that? Or could Sargent paint like that because he knew what it was like to watch other people live like that?”

Nicholas was silent for a long moment. Then Nicholas said, “Maybe he painted like that because he _wanted_ to live like that.”

***

They left the museum hand-in-hand, and it wasn’t late because the museum wasn’t open late, and Elliot realized abruptly he should have had dinner plans. What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

He turned to Nicholas and said, “I didn’t make any dinner plans.”

Nicholas smiled and said, “It’s a lovely night. Let’s walk.”

So they walked along the Fens, like fucking tourists, hand-in-hand, and Elliot told Nicholas about the Emerald Necklace.

Nicholas said, “You know a lot about Boston.”

Elliot said, “So many fucking school field trips. How do you know _nothing_? Didn’t you ever take a duck tour or something?”

Nicholas laughed. “I moved here for medical school. I was a little busy. And then I was a resident and then I was a doctor. I just kind of skipped the Boston history section of life here. And weirdly they don’t teach you a whole lot about Boston in Washington State.”

“Really?” said Elliot. “You don’t spend half a year going over Boston’s glorious role in the events of the American Revolution?”

“No,” said Nicholas. “We don’t.”

“Well, that’s sad for you,” said Elliot. “We kicked ass during the American Revolution.”

Nicholas grinned. “We’ll do a duck tour for date number three.”

“And then I suppose Lexington and Concord for date number four?” said Elliot.

“Hmm. And Walden Pond while we’re at it?” suggested Nicholas.  

“I want you to know these are weird dates,” Elliot told him. “These aren’t the usual sort of date.”

“Ah, but aren’t you a starfish? A substance outside of his usual milieu? I was under the impression I had to go for amazing dates.”

“You kissed me in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum,” Elliot said. “You’re well beyond amazing.”

“Why am I the first person you’ve taken there to fulfill that particular fantasy of yours?” asked Nicholas, sounding honestly bemused.

And it was a good question. It was _such_ a good question. Elliot couldn’t say, _Because I’m never me on any of the dates I go on_. Elliot couldn’t say, _Because I’m not even supposed to be me on this date right now._ Elliot stopped walking so he could kiss Nicholas instead of answering, and Nicholas seemed okay with that.

***

They ate outside at a restaurant near Berklee that they stumbled upon randomly. It was kind of a generic place and Elliot had no idea what the menu really looked like. He knew that Nicholas ordered a mojito, because he kind of boggled at that choice and then cautiously followed suit. The mojito was sickeningly sweet but Elliot was weirdly proud of himself for trying it.

They talked about when Nicholas had first moved to Boston, and getting lost on city buses. They talked about the first time Elliot had been to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and how he went through a phase of wanting to marry a woman named Isabella just to be with someone who get to get into the museum for free, and then how he had decided that was aiming too small and he was just going to grow up to _be_ Isabella Stewart Gardner.

“She had the most beautiful sense of aesthetic,” Elliot said admiringly, as Nicholas ordered them another round of mojitos and Elliot didn’t say anything because maybe they were growing on him. “Like, she sat and she put _everything_ exactly where she wanted it, and it’s _timeless_ , and _stunning_.”

Nicholas said, “I think that’s a funny way to put it. I mean, it’s aesthetically beautiful, yes, but all of it is so very _her_ , don’t you think? Like, you get this really undiluted understanding of her. She placed her portrait with all the religious iconography like you should go and worship her. The whole museum is a monument to her. I mean, she’s amazing, and I think you should absolutely aim to be like Isabella Stewart Gardner, but I don’t think it’s her aesthetic that’s amazing, it’s how strong and powerful her sense of self was and still is, all these years later.”

Elliot blinked, startled, because he had never really thought of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum that way before. He felt like he knew Isabella, yes, it was true, but that was because he had spent so many hours in her house, loving the things she had loved. He had viewed her museum as the most carefully crafted part of her self, but Nicholas viewed it as _her_ , and maybe it had been. Maybe people could find an aesthetic that was just _them_. Maybe Isabella had done it. Maybe Nicholas, who could see that clearly, had done it, and that was why Elliot had such a hard time looking away from him, because all of Nicholas’s rough aesthetic was just _him_ , and Elliot could only flail around about the motivations of someone who was just _a person_ instead of a million other more important definitions.

Nicholas said, while Elliot was busy trying to understand him and Isabella Stewart Gardner and just fucking _life_ , “So you grew up in Boston, surrounded by all this beautiful art, and you came to love it. That makes sense. What else do you love about Boston?”

“The theater,” Elliot heard himself say, and that felt like the most obvious thing to confess, in the wake of his admiration of Isabella Stewart Gardner’s curation of her own life, that he also loved the artifice of the theater. But Nicholas made an interested sound, and so Elliot talked about how many shows he’d charmed his way into seeing before he’d had enough money to properly pay. This led to Nicholas telling a story about having horrible stage fright and backing out of the one college production he was going to do, and then somehow they were embroiled in a good-natured debate about music and Nicholas’s choice of Blur over fucking every other musician who had ever existed. Elliot felt like they were constantly in the middle of deep, interesting conversations before he’d even realized they’d begun.

“I feel we should move off the topic of music,” Nicholas said, smiling. “I feel like I’m never going to get you into bed if we keep talking about music. You’ll lose all respect for me.”

Elliot thought of going to bed with Nicholas and suddenly...wanted to go to bed with Nicholas. Like a fierce thunderbolt that sent sizzling aftermaths through him. He...wanted to climb over the table and deposit himself in Nicholas’s lap and get his hands under that horrible shirt and get Nicholas’s hands on him _everywhere_ and he actually wanted to go down on Nicholas, spread his knees open, swallow him down until he choked on him, and then clamber up and rub off on his chest and have it all be filthy and unaesthetic and he didn’t know why he hadn’t been thinking about this the whole time, now it was all he could think of.

Nicholas looked at him like he’d asked him a question.

“What?” said Elliot stupidly.

Nicholas smiled at him. “I said, why did you become a business analyst?”

“I…” Elliot felt like he had no idea, at this moment, why he’d made any of his choices in his life. “I don’t know. It seemed like it would be fun, and exciting, and I was good at it, and it paid well, and it kind of just happened. And at first I thought it would just be for a little while, but then, like, I don’t know, I was good at it, and there was money, and then I had a reputation, and I was in demand, and I don’t know. I guess that’s how. Inspiring, right?” His whole life story was the most pathetic-sounding thing.

Nicholas said, “I think it sounds understandable. I think that’s how a lot of careers happen.”

“Not your career, though,” said Elliot, because he knew unerringly that Nicholas was the sort of person who was doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life. “Did you always want to be a pediatrician?”

“No,” said Nicholas. “I did want to be a doctor, though. But it’s like when you’re a kid and can only think of a handful of careers. Doctor seemed good enough for me. But then I got older and doctor kept appealing to me, because...it’s a way of saving the world, without going into, like, politics or something. It’s a way of saving someone’s _entire_ world, really. And I wanted to do that. I wanted to be...useful. That makes me sound so holier-than-thou, Christ, ignore everything I just said.”

“I think it’s nice,” Elliot said. “I think we all want to feel useful. Some of us just...aren’t sure how to do that with our particular skill sets.”

“I have found you very useful just recently,” Nicholas said seriously. “I had a bad day, and then there was a text from you saying that I should meet you at the museum, and everything was much better, because you’re funny, and you’re interesting, and I like you.”

Elliot stopped breathing. He wanted to lean forward and grab Nicholas by his horrible plaid collar and say, _Do you? Do you really like me?_ He didn’t. But it was a near thing.

***

They got ice cream and ate it while walking to the Christian Science Plaza, where they settled on the shallow steps and watched the fountains in the lights, watched the kids shriek around the water.

Elliot was leaning against Nicholas, and it was nice, and natural. Like pulling that warm blanket right over your head. Like a swirl of stillness in a world that Elliot had always found slightly too bright and slightly too loud, a world that had always demanded slightly too much from him to be seen and heard. Elliot felt like Nicholas could see and hear him just fine, with so much less _effort_ on his part.

Elliot, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages, said lazily, “Fuck marry kill: D’Artagnan, Louis XIII, Richelieu.”

Nicholas after a moment answered, “Marry D’Artagnan, fuck Richelieu, kill Louis XIII.”

Elliot turned against Nicholas, wrinkling his nose. “That’s wrong.”

“You can’t get Fuck Marry Kill wrong,” Nicholas protested.

“You would _fuck Richelieu_? _Richelieu_?”

“He’s a conniving masterminding schemer,” said Nicholas. “You don’t think that’s kind of hot?”

“You’d kill _Louis XIII_?”

“Well, I’m not going to kill D’Artagnan.”

“You should _marry_ the king,” Elliot said. “You should always marry the king. That is always clearly the right choice.”

“Who would you have killed?” Nicholas asked.

“Richelieu,” said Elliot. “You always kill Richelieu.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nicholas said.

“Okay, here’s another one,” said Elliot. “Rasputin, Thomas Cromwell, Richelieu.”

Nicholas lifted an eyebrow. “Do you always play Fuck Marry Kill with Richelieu?”

“No,” said Elliot, even though Caroline insisted he did.

Nicholas said, “Kill Rasputin, marry Cromwell, fuck Richelieu.”

“ _Nicholas_ ,” said Elliot dramatically.

“Oh, come on,” said Nicholas. “Those are clearly the right choices.”

“You’re still fucking Richelieu!”

“Who would you fuck?”

“Rasputin.”

“ _Rasputin_?”

Elliot shrugged. “He was supposedly good in bed.”

“He was _Rasputin_. And he had that beard.”

“Well, at least you married Cromwell,” Elliot said. “I can at least support that.”

Nicholas grinned. Nicholas pulled Elliot in for a kiss. And it was and wasn’t like all of their other kisses. Elliot felt like it was more heated, more full of intent, but maybe that was Elliot adding that layer to it, Elliot pressing himself up and into Nicholas, Elliot trying to devour Nicholas whole, Elliot _wanting_ in a way he couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone ever before.

“Hey,” Nicholas managed against Elliot’s ear, panting, while Elliot scraped his teeth along the stubble on Nicholas’s jaw and then swiped the flat of his tongue against the rasp of it. He felt like an explorer. He wanted to start writing flowery journal entries in a leather-bound book, describing every new frontier of Nicholas he was getting to explore. Nicholas’s voice in his ear said, “Can I take you home, Richelieu?”

Elliot stilled, then turned his nose into Nicholas’s neck, breathed deep, squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to go home with Nicholas; that was his entire fucking mission, to get Nicholas to ask him to that fucking party. He _wanted_ to go home with Nicholas, not because of the beautiful art waiting for him at the end of it but because he had new Nicholas frontiers to explore, because for the first time in a very long time he wanted to touch and be touched because it felt good instead of required, because Elliot couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone home with someone because _he_ wanted to and not the role he was playing.

And Nicholas...Nicholas, if he was smart, should probably be walking in entirely the opposite direction. Elliot and his mission and his dubious morality and his criminal objective and the manufactured way he’d met Nicholas and fuck. “It’s a bad idea,” Elliot said hoarsely. “Such a bad choice. You should never fuck Richelieu.”

Nicholas said, “How about we revisit my fucking choices in the morning?”

Elliot took a deep shaky breath. Elliot closed his teeth gently over Nicholas’s pulse point, just for the caught noise Nicholas made in his throat. Elliot-in-Character should reply smoothly and suavely, _Yes, let’s go,_ and make some sort of filthy promise for Nicholas to be dazzled by. Elliot-Who-Was-a-Good-Person should say, _No, this is a bad idea, you can’t fall for me, sorry I did that to you, let’s part ways here, hopefully no harm done_.

Elliot-Who-Was-Elliot couldn’t bear to let Nicholas go. Elliot-Who-Was-Elliot said, “Yes. Please. Take me home.”

***

Elliot sat in the Uber trying to decide what aesthetic to convey. Should he lounge against the door, sexy and confident, sending knowing heated looks Nicholas’s way? Should he affect shy coquettishness, teeth catching his lower lip, gazing up at Nicholas through his eyelashes? Elliot couldn’t figure out how to do anything but to sit next to Nicholas practically _vibrating_ with how much he wanted to touch him, worried he was going to fly apart if Nicholas did touch him, wanting desperately that sensation of flying apart if Nicholas touched him.

Elliot looked at Nicholas, who looked like he was waiting for Elliot to make up his mind how he wanted to play this. Elliot thought of Jonah saying that Nicholas was naturally passive. Elliot thought how it was possible that Elliot might wait, just...wait, for him, to teeter back and forth and fret over every indecision and not know what aesthetic he wanted to land on and what aesthetic was _his_ and Nicholas might wait for all of it because Nicholas looked so _calm_.

Elliot said, “I don’t know who I should be,” which was such a shocking thing for him to say out loud, but felt like exactly the sort of ridiculous thing Elliot kept saying to Nicholas.

Nicholas said, “Why are you worrying about this? You’ve been doing okay so far.”

“Right,” Elliot agreed. “And I want to keep doing okay. And usually I’m really good at this, I’m not usually so indecisive about...If you just want to tell me what you want, I can pull it off. Just tell me.”

Nicholas looked at him for so long that Elliot was convinced he wasn’t going to answer.

And then he closed a hand into Elliot’s collar and just said, “Elliot,” just like that, as if that was some sort of fucking _clue_ , and then he kissed Elliot, and Elliot kissed back, and maybe it was a clue, because when everything was tongue and teeth and lips like that, Elliot felt like he _knew_.

Nicholas lived in Quincy, because of course he did, Elliot should have realized that given the Lobster Stop date. It was a quirky and cozy apartment, so Nicholas that Elliot felt it was physically painful. He looked from Nicholas’s shipping-crate-and-shattered-glass coffee table to his mismatched dining room chairs to his pretentious record player with its collection of albums and said suddenly, “Fuck you.”

Nicholas looked surprised and uncertain. “What?”

“You _are_ fucking Isabella Stewart Gardner,” Elliot said. “Look at your curated apartment distilled to the essence of you. You’re like a seduction scene set up just for me.” The idea was uncertainty-inducing enough to make Elliot look at Nicholas, standing just inside his door, watching him prowl through his living space. He said, “You’re not, are you?” Because that was normally the role Elliot played, being exactly what the other person wanted, and maybe he was on the receiving end of it all, and had it taken him this long to _notice_.

Nicholas laughed, which was comforting, and said, “Elliot. You’re amazing.” He reached for Elliot and pulled him in and Elliot went, letting their hands tangle together, watching Nicholas’s eyes crinkle at him in that smiling way that was now so familiar to him. “You, in your designer clothes that always look like you just walked in from a quick trip to Milan. I looked at you the day we met, and every day after that, and thought, ‘Fuck, I wish I had half a chance with someone that out of my league.’ If I’d thought to set up a seduction scene for you, it would have looked nothing like _me_ , nothing like _this_. I thought I would be as aggressively me as I could be and I would see that you--” Nicholas sucked in a sudden breath. “You walked through that museum today like you owned the place, like you could have plucked any piece of art off the wall and hung it over your bed and considered it your due. And I thought, ‘Wow, I hope that beautiful creature isn’t too terribly disappointed when I show him where I live.’”

Elliot looked at Nicholas and tried to breathe and thought that Nicholas was _right_ , that he would never have said that Nicholas was the sort of person he wanted, that he would never have looked twice at Nicholas if he hadn’t been forced to for work, that he would have under normal circumstances found a way to get out of going on a first date to a _fucking clam shack_ , and he would have missed all of this.

“You’re not wrong,” Elliot admitted in a low voice. “I think I thought I was the sort of person who would be absolutely appalled by all of this. And it turns out I’m the sort of person that sees you in this terrible shirt and just wants to shove you up against a wall.”

Nicholas smiled at him, pulled him in closer, looking teasing and warm and _so_ fuzzy-blanket Elliot could barely stand it. He said, “Is this shirt terrible? I don’t think this shirt is terrible.”

Elliot said, “Oh, my _God_ , Nicholas, it’s abysmal.”

“Meanwhile you wore all of the softest things in the universe so I would spend all night wanting to touch,” said Nicholas, smoothing his hands down Elliot’s back, caressingly over his hips, tantalizingly close to splaying over his ass.

Elliot realized abruptly that Nicholas was right: he _had_ worn all of his softest things precisely so Nicholas would want to touch him. And that was so unlike him, to do that _subconsciously_ , without the concerted effort to make himself touchable.

And then a cat showed up, winding between their legs and mrowring loudly.

Elliot looked down, surprised.

Nicholas said, “Oh, don’t mind him. That’s Ian Purrtis.”

“Ian Purrtis,” Elliot repeated.

“Yeah,” said Nicholas. “Get it?”

“Oh, I get it,” said Elliot, and looked at Nicholas. “Look, don’t think this is an endorsement of your terrible, terrible taste in names--because it totally isn’t--but I think I need to blow you right now.”

Nicholas laughed until Elliot got his pants off. And then Nicholas groaned and gasped and said, “ElliotElliotElliot,” all in a row, and Elliot had never loved his name so fucking much.

And then Nicholas pulled Elliot up and kissed him hard, before he could protest much about not being done, kissed him all the way back to the bedroom, and they shed clothes along the way, messily, unaesthetically, leaving them in heaps behind them, and even their kisses were uncoordinated and clumsy but _perfect_ , up against the corners of the walls, only halfway on the bed.

Elliot didn’t mind sex. That was his constant refrain. Sex was absolutely _fine_. This--this wasn’t sex. Not in Elliot’s experience. Not this frantic, fevered need to have his hands and mouth everywhere, to get Nicholas’s hands and mouth everywhere. Not this descent into desperate touching and kissing at the expense of a more productive trajectory toward mutual orgasm. Not the way Elliot talked and talked and talked, helpless to stop himself, curses and pleas and _yes_ es and _more_ s and Nicholas’s name, over and over, and Nicholas paused to swallow some of Elliot’s words and then to say thickly, “Fuck, keep talking, your _voice_ ,” and so Elliot couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by how little control he had over what he was saying. He just had the sensation that Nicholas dragged him under, far enough that when he came he was pretty sure he was _himself_.

***

Sometimes it was Elliot’s aesthetic to leave after sex, after he’d deemed a respectable amount of time had passed. Sometimes it was a good idea to leave people wanting more. Sometimes he’d already gotten everything he wanted anyway. Sometimes it was Elliot’s aesthetic to stay overnight, because sometimes the mark needed that extra push toward whatever Elliot wanted them to do.

On this particular evening, Elliot couldn’t have gotten out of Nicholas’s bed if it had caught fire. Which seemed fine by Nicholas, who kept nuzzling at him, drawing a hand along Elliot’s skin, murmuring things Elliot couldn’t understand and yet comprehended all the same. Elliot felt like ordinarily he would be annoyed by all of this, ordinarily he would try to find a way to shrug it off, but this Elliot he suddenly was turned into the touches, luxuriated in them, felt like he was unfurling under the caresses.

“Hey,” Nicholas said into Elliot’s collarbone. “Richelieu.”

Elliot laughed, lazy and loose, and said, “Mmm, fine, I won’t argue with you, fuck Richelieu all you want.”

Nicholas laughed, too, lifting his head to catch Elliot into a kiss, also lazy and loose. Elliot dragged his hands through Nicholas’s hair and hummed into the kiss and felt generally _spectacular_.

Nicholas said into Elliot’s mouth, “Whatever milieu you belong to, stay with me here tonight. Wake up with me tomorrow. Stay.”

Elliot nodded and tried to kiss Nicholas and say at the same time, “I want to stay. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me be someone else.”

Nicholas kissed him and kissed him and said, “Elliot, Elliot, Elliot, I don’t want anyone else.”

Which seemed impossible, because Nicholas _should_ want someone else, the smooth clever with-it Elliot who killed with aesthetic instead of this needy desperate Elliot who wanted to burrow into him, at the very least. But Elliot took Nicholas’s words--fuzzy-blanket words--and rolled them into a tight ball and tucked them away inside of him.

***

Elliot woke to a cat in the bed with him, looking at him with narrow-eyed suspicion.

“Ian Purrtis,” Elliot remembered.

Ian Purrtis’s tail swished with apparent displeasure.

Elliot said, “Hey, I didn’t name you that ridiculous thing, don’t take it out on me,” and then sat up. He was alone in the bedroom, but he could hear movement somewhere else in the apartment. He hesitated, thinking, wondering. He didn’t usually sleep so deeply or so well in other people’s beds, he didn’t usually wake last, and he wasn’t sure how to approach this first meeting on the morning-after.

He eventually settled for finding as many articles of clothing as he could to pull back on and then following the noises to Nicholas’s kitchen, where Nicholas was busy doing something over by the counter.

He turned when Elliot came in and said, “Hello. You’re dressed.”

Elliot said, focused on the most important thing in the room, “Is that coffee?”

“Well, at least I know where I rank in morning affections,” remarked Nicholas, and poured Elliot a cup. “How do you take it?”

“So black,” said Elliot. “Like, the blackest possible.”

Nicholas handed it across and Elliot took it and took a sip and then looked at Nicholas. Nicholas was not dressed, really. Nicholas was dressed in a pair of boxers and a Blur t-shirt. Like, literally a Blur t-shirt.

“What are you wearing?” Elliot asked.

Nicholas grinned. “Specially selected for you. I thought it would be irresistible to you.”

“Fuck,” sighed Elliot. “It is kind of a little bit.”

Nicholas laughed and then pulled Elliot in, careful of his coffee, and it was that gentle thoughtful gesture that made Elliot think, _Oh, my God, do I love you? How can I love you? I think I might love you_.

Nicholas said, “Good morning, Richelieu,” and kissed him.

Elliot’s toes curled and he thought, _Fuck, I do love you. Fuck. Fuck. Is this what love feels like? Fuck._

But all he said was, “That’s, like, the least sexy nickname in the universe.”

“Mmm,” said Nicholas, and kissed along Elliot’s jaw. “Wait until I help you develop your Pavlovian response to being called ‘Richelieu,’ and then we’ll reevaluate.”

“Fuck,” said Elliot, resigned to that clearly happening…

...if they had enough time to get that far.

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, and Nicholas stopped kissing him and said suddenly, “Oh, no. Was that too much? Too fast? Wait, let’s back up. We can--”

Elliot shook his head and opened his eyes and said, “No, perfect, it’s perfect, _fuck_ ,” and kissed Nicholas again and tried not to be desperate about it, even if what he wanted most in the world was to find the Elliot he’d been last night, to keep the other Elliot at bay a little longer.

“Okay,” Nicholas murmured, kissing back. “Hey. Shh.”

Elliot leaned his forehead against his and said, “Let’s start over and pretend I’m normal in the mornings.”

Nicholas chuckled and kissed his forehead and said, “Let me make you an Eggo.”

Elliot was silent for a beat, then said carefully, “Let you make me a...what?”

“An Eggo. You know, like a frozen waffle?”

“Oh, my God,” said Elliot. “Oh, my fucking _God_ , it is Sunday morning and this city is full of quality brunches and we are going out.”

“Are we?” asked Nicholas, looking amused. “Because see, the advantage of the Eggo is I can make it here and you can eat it while I’m getting you undressed and then we can take a shower together.”

Elliot considered. “Okay, you can make me an Eggo but only because after the showering et cetera I’m taking you out for a proper brunch.”

“What are you encompassing with that ‘et cetera’?” Nicholas asked.

“I don’t know,” said Elliot. “Depends on how good this Eggo is.”

The Eggo was terrible, but the et cetera was pretty good anyway.

***

By the time the sun was setting on Sunday, Elliot’s phone was vibrating its way out of his pocket with texts from Jane. _You’re not dead, are you?????_ had been the first text, which was understandable, since he’d never spent an _entire_ _twenty-four-hour-plus period_ with a mark. Elliot had been trying to deflect responding, and finally said to Nicholas, thinking it might look suspicious for him not to explain, “My friends are worried maybe you killed me.”

“I don’t blame them. Do you have to go back to your starfish milieu?”

They were sitting on Nicholas’s couch, tangled together, nursing Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffees, because Nicholas had assumed Elliot would want a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee and had not been wrong about that. The television was playing _Property Brothers_ , because they’d stumbled on a marathon and Elliot had spent the day criticizing their aesthetic, as if that was something attractive that would make Nicholas want to fuck him ever again, except then Nicholas did fuck him again halfway through the afternoon so apparently that was attractive.

“Maybe,” Elliot admitted, because he could only put it off for so long. “I kind of do.”

“That’s okay,” Nicholas said. “I do, too. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Right,” Elliot said. “Me, too, of course.” Like he totally had a real legit job.

Nicholas said, “Elliot,” and then leaned forward and captured him into a sweet and magnificent kiss.

Elliot had pretty much decided that Nicholas was the best kisser on the planet.

Nicholas said, “I’m not an especially spontaneous person. I’m not a person who’s going to dance the flamenco, or burst into song. But you make me want to be gloriously alive like the people in the painting. And maybe if we want that together, we can get somewhere.”

Elliot kissed Nicholas, hard and fierce, because otherwise he didn’t know how to communicate _how incredible that sounded_.

Elliot only stopped kissing Nicholas because his phone vibrated again, and really it was Nicholas who pulled back and smiled and kissed him one last time and said, “Go. You should go. Will you be getting coffee tomorrow?”

Elliot nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Nicholas smiled again and said, “Thank God I dropped my wallet that day like an idiot.”

Elliot’s heart stopped in his chest and he breathed through it and said innocently, “Yeah. How lucky for us.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nicholas said.

Elliot nodded and kissed him again and said on his way out the door, “Ian Purrtis hates his name, he told me so this morning.”

Nicholas laughed and pushed him the rest of the way out the door and then closed it.

Elliot absolutely did not lean against it like a starstruck teenager but it was a near thing.

***

“You have been gone _forever_ ,” Caroline exclaimed when he walked in. “Tell us everything. He must be _amazing_ , you never want to stay for extra sex.”

“It was fine,” said Elliot stiffly, who really didn’t want to get into it more than that.

Jane said, “So is he taking you to the party?”

_The party_. Elliot had forgotten all about that objective. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course.” He stole a glance at Jonah, who said nothing, which was almost worse than being mocked. “So everything’s under control,” Elliot announced.

“Oh, excellent,” said Jonah. “I always feel better when people spontaneously tell me everything’s under control. That never makes me feel like nothing’s under control.”

Elliot scowled and was about to retreat to his room, and then had a thought, and turned back, and said slowly, “Nicholas is kind of demanding.”

“Meaning what?” asked Caroline. “Come on, spill the kink, don’t leave us hanging.”

“Meaning I’ll probably have to spend a lot of time with him and be an actual _boyfriend_ ,” said Elliot, and tried to pretend this was going to be a hardship.

“Whatever you have to do,” said Jane.

Jonah said, “I’m sure you’ll give a bravura performance.”

Caroline said, “No, seriously, I’m dying here, tell us about the kink.”

***

It was so incredibly and thoroughly effortless that Elliot would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so giddy. It was just so _easy_ , to sink into a kiss the next time he saw Nicholas, to text that they should have a drink when Nicholas got out of work, to meet him for that drink and feel everything slot into place, feel everything get brighter and better, more amazing, more bearable, just _more_.

They made out on the sidewalk in front of the bar so much that someone told them to get a room, and Nicholas said, “What about it, starfish? Can I steal you for a night?”

“Please steal me,” Elliot said, which meant so much more than Nicholas could ever realize.

And then Elliot woke up with Nicholas the next morning, and they walked to the coffee shop together, and Nicholas kissed him good-bye and said something about Thai for dinner, and just like that, Elliot felt, he had a _boyfriend_. Like, an actual boyfriend he _wanted_ , who he wanted to spend time with, who he wanted to fuck and kiss and talk to about his day.

On Thursday, Jonah walked into the coffee shop while Elliot was tending to his various aesthetic Tumblrs and slid into the chair across from him and said calmly, “Well. How is playing house with your doctor going? Are you enjoying this taste of tedious domesticity?”

“Actually,” Elliot said acidly, “yes.” Elliot clicked reblog on something that he didn’t really like, but whatever, it was better than looking at Jonah’s stupid face.

But then Jonah said, sounding astonished, “Wait, you really mean that.”

Elliot glanced at Jonah cautiously, said innocently, “What?”

“That is the first true thing I think I’ve ever heard come out of that pouting mouth of yours. You’re _enjoying_ yourself. I didn’t think you were actually capable of that. I’ve never seen you relax enough to do it.”

“Okay,” Elliot said tightly, “can you be done insulting me for the day, do you think--”

“You’re actually in love with him,” Jonah said thoughtfully, and Elliot went still, because it was one thing for him to think it in the privacy of his own brain, he thought _lots_ of foolish things, it was another thing entirely for Jonah to say it out loud with such truthful finality. “I mean, I thought this whole thing was odd, but I didn’t think you’d--He’s a pediatrician who lives in Quincy. Do you know who _you_ are?”

“I’m figuring it out,” Elliot retorted flatly.

Which was entirely the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as it came out of his mouth, he knew it as soon as Jonah lifted his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat and simply said in response a very weighty “Well.” And then he got up and left.

“Fuck,” said Elliot out loud, and got a dirty look from the woman with a toddler next to him, but who brought a toddler to a fucking coffee shop.

He knew he probably ought to go home and do damage control, that Jonah was about to go back to Jane and undermine him as much as possible, but Elliot felt like dealing with that not at all, so instead he went back to Nicholas’s apartment building, was actually waiting on the stoop when Nicholas texted with _Dinner?_

Elliot texted back with _I’m already home_ , and it felt like Jonah had said: like Elliot was telling the truth for the first time in his life.

Nicholas came home to find him on the stoop and said, “Hello. Did you have a bad day?”

“I’m fine,” Elliot said shortly, standing.

Nicholas said, sounding displeased, “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.”

Which was the most laughable thing Nicholas had ever said, Elliot was lying _constantly_ , except for how Elliot finally wasn’t lying, or something.

“I don’t want to leave,” Elliot said miserably. “I don’t want to leave.”

“You don’t have to. Why would I make you leave? What happened?”

Elliot stepped closer to Nicholas, and he pulled him in wordlessly, which was exactly what Elliot had wanted. _Nicholas_ was what Elliot wanted. He didn’t know how the fuck he was going to tell Jane this. He didn’t know how the fuck he was going to make this work.

Nicholas said, “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, okay? What if I promise you that? You’re still Elliot, and I’m still Nicholas, and it doesn’t matter. Together we’re Elliotolas.”

Elliot was silent for a beat, face pressed against Nicholas’s neck. Then he said, “Together we’re Elliotolas?”

“Yeah,” Nicholas said. “Like, if you put our names together. It’s our couple name. E-l-l-i-o-t for you, o-l-a-s for me. Elliotolas.”

“Oh, my God,” said Elliot. “That’s terrible. How long have you been thinking about that?”

“I think it’s pretty good,” said Nicholas. “My other option was Nickell. Do you like that better?”

“Oh, God,” said Elliot.

“I can hear you smiling, you know,” said Nicholas. “So I know we’re making progress here.”

Elliot lifted his head, not even bothering to deny that, but said solemnly, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“About us?” Nicholas said. “I told you not to worry about that, right? Whoever you are is who you should be.”

“Not really about us,” Elliot said. “Kind of in general. I’m having a...business difficulty.”

Nicholas said, “Well. If it helps at all, one of the main things I’ve learned about you is that you are a person who’s pretty damn good at getting what he wants. You’re the Richelieu, you know. You’re kind of the only one who gets what he wants out of the whole mess. So, whatever it is, I have faith in you.”

Elliot stared at him. And then he said slowly, “Wait, I _am_ Richelieu.”

Nicholas gave him a look. “Yes. I’ve been telling you that, pretty openly.”

“Right, but...you’re right. This is what I do. I make things work. I get myself out of things. And into things. And... _everything_. I do _everything_.” He did. He was _excellent_ at this. How could be wondering how he would get this to work? Of _course_ he would get this to work.

“Well,” remarked Nicholas, “this is certainly an about-face from the utter despair of thirty seconds ago. I am apparently amazingly adept at pep talks.”

“Come inside so I can give you a promotion, D’Artagnan,” said Elliot.

Nicholas said, “Okay, maybe I’m going to draw a line in the sand on _Three Musketeers_ -related dirty talk.”

***

Jonah hit pause on the playback of “Very Very Very,” and Jane and Caroline both froze into place and then turned to him in annoyance.

“We need to talk about Elliot,” Jonah announced.

“Why?” asked Jane. “Is he okay? He seems like he has everything under control.”

“He has nothing under control,” said Jonah.

“Is this about whatever kinky thing is going on with that doctor of his?” Caroline asked. “I swear to Christ, I could use some detail on that.”

“That doctor is the least kinky person who ever lived,” Jonah said, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, you need to look elsewhere for your kink needs.”

“Then what the fuck is going on?” Caroline asked. “We were in the middle of something.”

Jonah looked at Jane and said steadily, “Elliot’s in love.”

Jane scoffed.

Jonah lifted his eyebrows at her.

Jane said, after a second, “Elliot doesn’t fall in love. I’ve never seen Elliot in love. He’s not like that.”

“And yet I submit to you that he is very clearly in love from where I’m sitting. I went to see him today. He is besotted.”

“With a pediatrician who lives in Quincy?” Jane said. “Elliot _hates_ Quincy.”

“Elliot never does this, though,” said Caroline slowly. “Like, Elliot also hates spending more time with a mark than he has to.”

“Precisely,” Jonah said. “And I’ve had my doubts for a while that Elliot needs to spend every single moment with this doctor. At the very least the doctor goes to work sometimes. Elliot’s where he is right now because Elliot _likes_ where he is.”

Jane stared at him. “But...what about...Elliot wouldn’t…”

“No,” Jonah agree gently. “I don’t think he would. Elliot would never hurt any of us. Whatever Elliot’s failings--and we all know I think he has many--Elliot is almost pathologically loyal. I don’t know that Elliot quite realized how serious his predicament is. He realizes it now. He’ll be here to talk to us.”

“Talk to us about what?” Caroline asked hotly. “How he’s going to jeopardize our entire payday because he finally found a cock he likes the feel of?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Jane said sharply.

Caroline looked abashed. She sighed and said, “No. You’re right. Sorry. I just...everything was going so well, wasn’t it?”

“For you and for me and for Jane,” said Jonah, “everything was going swimmingly. Elliot was always just here playing a role. And the thing was that we all knew it. Elliot’s out there now somehow, someway, finding himself turning into a real boy, whatever that means for him, and wherever that ends up. I think we’re going to have to figure it out together.”

***

The next morning was Friday and Nicholas looked at his phone and said, “Fuck, I forgot.”

“Forgot?” said Elliot, trying to figure out how to get out from underneath Ian Purrtis with the least amount of cat hair clinging to him.

“I have to go to a party tomorrow night. I completely forgot.” Nicholas looked over at Elliot and said, “Do you want to come?”

***

Elliot went home, in part to get a real suit, and in part because, well, he _had_ to. He had to talk to everyone and come up with a plan and make this work. Make all of it work.

When he walked in, everyone looked up in utter silence.

Elliot frowned at Jonah. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them the truth,” said Jonah. “Isn’t that a thing we’re doing these days?”

Elliot said, “Hmm. Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is I am going to the party tomorrow night.”

“The bad news is you’re in love with your Quincy pediatrician and want out of this life?” guessed Caroline.

“Good guess,” said Elliot.

Caroline sighed.

Elliot sighed, too, and sat down and waited for someone to say something.

No one seemed inclined to say anything.

Elliot said finally, “Isn’t anyone going to tell me I’m being an idiot?”

“No,” said Jane, and she sounded so unexpectedly emotional that Elliot stared at her. “Fuck it, you look fucking _happy_ , you irritating _asshole_.”

“You do,” added Caroline, sounding equally emotional. “How did this _happen_? Our little Elliot. All grown up.” Caroline suddenly descended upon him to envelop him in a hug.

“Okay,” Jonah said, “you two have slept together, this is all a little weird.”

Caroline ignored him and said, “He’s good to you? He loves you, too? You can deal with all of his weird kinks?”

“He’s like this alternate universe,” Elliot said, trying to explain. “He’s like...I’m with him and I suddenly see this completely different life and I _want_ it. I don’t want to do _this_ anymore. I mean, it’s been fun, it’s been great, but I want...I want Nicholas, and all this weird normality, and I don’t know, maybe I’ll get sick of it, but right now it seems like...like heaven. Like just…”

“Like just maybe you wanted this all along and you couldn’t find a way to get the balance right,” said Jane suddenly. “Oh, _Elliot_.”

“I didn’t know,” Elliot said in his defense. “I just didn’t know.”

“So that’s it?” said Jonah. “Are you at least going to get us the specs of the house tomorrow night?”

“I’m going to tell Nicholas,” said Elliot.

“Tell Nicholas what?” asked Jane.

“About me.”

“Wait.” Jonah leaned forward. “You’re going to tell him you’re an art thief?”

“I have to,” Elliot said. “Don’t you see? I _have_ to. How am I going to, like, be this right and real me with it all starting with this huge lie?”

“Oh, my God,” said Caroline. “Does he make you read self-help books? Is that his kink?”

“I’m not going to say anything about you guys,” Elliot said. “Of course I wouldn’t. But I’m going to come clean to him. I don’t want to do it behind his back.”

There was a moment of silence.

“And where does that leave this heist?” Jonah asked eventually.

Elliot said, “I don’t know. I’ll get the specs and...I don’t know.”

***

Elliot let himself have the most delicious Friday night with Nicholas. He let himself be sappy and adoring, let himself map every inch of Nicholas’s body, let Nicholas cuddle him afterward. It was all glorious.

On Saturday, he let Nicholas burn Eggos for them and then he took a deep breath and said, “Okay. I need to talk to you.”

Nicholas leaned back in his seat and gave him a cautious look and said, “Go on.”

Elliot said, “It’s probably manipulative if, before I say all of this, I start by saying that I feel like I’m probably in love with you. But fuck it, manipulation is my specialty so: Probably I love you.”

Nicholas’s gaze was impassive. He said, “I appreciate all the qualifications to that statement.”

“You will once you hear what comes next,” said Elliot.

Nicholas said, “Is this about how you’re an art thief who engineered this whole thing so you can gain access to my boss’s house and subsequently his art collection tonight?”

And Elliot felt like he fell off the fucking _Earth_. He stared at Nicholas and croaked, “ _What_?”

“Idiot,” Nicholas said. “You fucking idiot.” But then he leaned forward and kissed Elliot quickly and fiercely.

Elliot said dazedly, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m glad you told me. And now that you’ve told me, we can talk about what happens next.”

“Have you known this whole time?” asked Elliot, astonished.

“No. I mean, I knew there was something the slightest bit off but I liked you a lot so I just, like, went with it. Then I sleep with you and the next thing I know Interpol is at my office on Monday morning telling me that I have the opportunity to catch a set of international art thieves.”

“Oh, my God,” said Elliot, going suddenly ice-cold. He stiffened and moved slowly away from Nicholas, trying not to be physically ill right there.

“Stop it,” Nicholas said firmly, and hauled him back in by his collar. “ _Of course_ I am not cooperating. But I didn’t know how to help you unless you let me help you.”

“You believed them?” Elliot said. “Interpol shows up and says you’re dating an international art thief and you just _believed_ them?”

“Elliot, Saturday night, at dinner, you asked me how I knew I wanted to be a pediatrician. Except I’d never told you what type of doctor I was. That was one of the things I was brushing off. Maybe you Googled me or something. But then Interpol showed up and suddenly it made sense, that you knew things about me, that that first meeting between us had been so perfectly timed, that you’d been so persistent, that your favorite thing in the entire fucking universe is obviously _art_ , that you wanted to be Isabella Stewart Gardner when you grew up, have you been stealing yourself a museum?”

Nicholas seemed to expect an answer, so Elliot licked his lips and whispered, “Maybe.”

“Idiot,” Nicholas said thickly, and kissed him. “I’ll buy you art. I’ll buy you so much art.”

“No offense,” Elliot said around his kisses, “but we’re talking John Singer Sargents here.”

“This is _such_ a fucking cliche,” Nicholas said, leaning back a bit, “but I believed you were a thief because of how efficiently and effectively you managed to steal my heart.”

“I wasn’t faking it,” Elliot said desperately. “It wasn’t an act. You...made me that picnic and I--”

“I saw, you know. I saw the exact moment you stopped acting. It was this gorgeous unbelievable thing and I watched it happen and I fell in love right there and I thought, if you just stayed that person, that non-acting person, then I didn’t stand a chance. You were like looking at a starfish and realizing you were a star, after all.”

Elliot said, “You’re just such a real person, and you make me feel like I’m a real person, too, and we could just be real people together, and I want that.”

“I’m so boring,” Nicholas said. “I can’t have a boyfriend who’s an art thief. I don’t want to make you change who you are--”

“I don’t want to be an art thief,” Elliot said. “I don’t know what I want to be, but I don’t want to be the person I’ve been. I want to be the person I _am_.”

“That’s good,” said Nicholas. “Because that’s the person I want. And also Interpol is totally onto you and you need to not give them an excuse to come after you.”

Elliot nodded and kissed Nicholas and said, “Thank you, thank you, for believing Interpol but still also believing _me_.”

Nicholas said, “Tell me without all the qualifications. You don’t need them.”

“I’m in love with you,” Elliot said, and it had the ring of truth, like turning a page and having the chapter heading read _Reality Starts Here_.

Nicholas said, “I love you, too.”

***

“It would be laughably easy to steal whatever we wanted,” Elliot told Jonah and Jane and Caroline on Sunday, “but we can’t because Interpol is onto us.”

“What?” they said in unison.

And so Elliot told them what Nicholas had told him.

“And he didn’t turn us in?” Caroline asked suspiciously.

Elliot shook his head. “He loves me,” he said.

“He wasn’t upset you’re a manipulative criminal?” said Jane.

“He says he’s in love with the person I am, and the person I am just loved art a little too much to be healthy, but we’re going to find me another career. Maybe in the theater.”

Jonah shouted with laughter. “You would be _perfect_ in the theater.”

“So would you,” said Caroline. “You should both go be actors together.”

Jane said, “Actually, this all works out well, since I’ve been freelance coding for Google anyway.”

“You’ve been _what_?” said Caroline.

Jane shrugged.

Elliot sad, “I thought you were spending a lot of time on your computer.”

Jonah said, “That leaves you, Caroline. What will you do?”

Caroline shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“We all have to find a way to be our own Isabella Stewart Gardner,” Elliot said wisely.

“What nonsense is this?” Jonah asked.

“She had a strong sense of self,” said Elliot.

“Isabella Stewart Gardner,” said Jane. “You know. Those paintings are still missing. There’s a ten million dollar reward. Maybe we should _un_ steal the paintings.”

“A fun thing to do during downtime from Google?” drawled Jonah.

“Hey, Elliot,” Jane said, “what would your boyfriend say if we tried to find a Vermeer on the side?”

***

There came a day when Nicholas walked into the house and there was a framed sketch on one of their empty walls. All of the walls were empty, waiting for art Elliot deemed good enough to fill the house with. Nicholas suspected Elliot still, after all these years, had a storage unit full of priceless art that he was sitting on, but that naturally he wouldn’t decorate their house with.

Nicholas tipped his head at the sketch on the wall and Elliot came bounding down the stairs, followed by the four cats and the two dogs and the pot-bellied pig.

“Hi,” he said happily, and kissed Nicholas, and said, “Do you like it?” and flourished a hand at the sketch. “It’s a minor John Singer Sargent. A pencil sketch. A study for _El Jaleo_.”

“A study for _El Jaleo_?” Nicholas repeated, and looked at Elliot. They were members at the Gardner Museum these days, so that Elliot could be kissed there whenever he wanted. Elliot especially loved to be kissed in front of _El Jaleo_. “Did you steal this?”

“No.” Elliot grinned, looking very smug and pleased with himself. “I _un_ stole some things, and this was a gift from the Gardner as a reward.”

“You...What?” Nicholas stared at him.

Elliot said happily, looking at his Sargent sketch, “It’s our own little slice of Isabella. I am certain she approves.”

“Tell me how you unstole these paintings,” said Nicholas.

Elliot beamed. “I was _so_ Richelieu. It’s such a great story. You’re going to love this so much you have to be naked for it. Upstairs. Not in front of _El Jaleo_.”

“You’re not allowed to get yourself any more art if we can’t have sex in front of it,” Nicholas decided.

Elliot threw him a look over his shoulder, as he headed back upstairs. It was a look that made Nicholas’s heart fall at his feet, even after all these years of seeing it, mischievous and self-satisfied and and comfortable and _Elliot_ , the Elliot he’d turned out to be, an art thief wrapped up in a museum director who was almost magically adept at getting donations to rain down on his chosen subjects.

Elliot said, “Wait until you see what I picked out for our bedroom. Perfect for having sex in front of.”

Nicholas grinned, and then chased Elliot up the stairs, because he couldn’t wait to see what Elliot’s idea of that was.  

 


End file.
